Zanzibar Arrival

T.R.S…
After a hot, corn-growing night's sailing from Mombasa, arrived on Sunday morning at Zanzibar. The Sultan's red flag was flying on the palace mast, and many sightseers lined the docks to watch tenders unload the passengers.

Tiny Austin-type autos took us quickly to the main shopping centre. Sunday means nothing to merchants here as they worship at their mosques on Fridays. Here is a spicy place - cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and pepper are among products of export. The main factory in city makes clove oil and the fragrance of cloves fills the air.

Ancient apartment buildings four to six storeys high line little narrow, zigzag passageways. Except for passing points, these alleys are seldom more than 10 to 12 feet wide, with khaki-clad traffic cops signalling each other to prevent traffic tie-ups.

No street follows a straight line longer than 100 feet. Street surfaces are concave and a small stream of water trickles down the centre into catch basins. Along the many miles of shop streets, the bazaars have no windows, simply open fronts with partitions between and merchandise is displayed on trays and racks, table high.

Wherever textiles are sold, sewing machine operators sit ready to take measurements for garments made on the spot. Kanga sarongs for Arabs and Buwi-Buwi gowns for Indian women. Shoe-shops, coppersmiths, grocery stalls, woodworkers, basket weavers, all operate the same way - make to order anything customer desires. Jewellers and curio dealers are located in better sections and have normal-type stores for displaying and safeguarding their more valuable goods.

Many hundreds of handsome and cleanly-dressed children roam about the narrow streets, some carrying infants. Never saw so many look-alikes. Bulk of population could be members of same family from appearance. Indian women and even little girls often have jewels imbedded in sides of noses, besides many others who have a red tattoo-mark (a bindi) in middle of foreheads, denoting one of the Hindu religious sects and being married.

One hundred and thirty thousand people live compactly in this strange place, yet there are only one hundred white families who cling closely together and know each other by given names. Disease epidemics are unknown and crime is practically unheard of. White women can walk alone on any street at any hour of the day or night in perfect safety.

“Head dog” of island is 70-year old Sultan (with only one very black wife) who is paid $5,000 a month and housed in a city and also a country palace.

At Zanzibar boat landing we made acquaintance of Mr. Phillips, British public works supervisor, living here. Smuggled him aboard Caronia with us for lunch, and what a fountain of information he proved to be. After lunch he took us ashore and in his car gave us a conducted tour of north end of island, which is 60 miles long and 20 miles wide.

Visited artesian well which has been water supply of East African shipping for more than 1,000 years and now supplies entire population. Passed fabulous suburban villa where Mr. Phillips said Ali Khan and Rita Hayworth stayed for several days as guests of the Sultan. He'd been a guest at the Sultan's state party for Ali and Rita.

Drove rapidly through little village of Bu-Bu-Bu, where ruins of ancient palace lay in decay and wooded parkway surrounding it has gone back to the jungle. Came next to a long-abandoned public Turkish bathhouse still intact, though not used in 400 years.

Continuous groves of palm and banana trees lie on each side of highway, with little clove trees sheltered beneath them, and a strong aroma of cloves and blossoms fills the air. No cemeteries exist in Zanzibar. The dead are buried on any spot chosen but must be put down six feet in presence of witnesses.

Bicycles are used by thousands and seem to be favourite possession of natives. Returning from country drive, we passed modern hospital and clinic building through parks neatly gardened, then quickly back into narrow alley section of city where children, chickens and goats run together and autos and bicycles keep them jumping.

Our car even slowed down for kids (baby goats) and waving cops gave us right of way equal to an ambulance run. The monsoon - a continuous trade wind - blows steadily from the North for six months until the March equinox, when it goes into reverse and blows from the South for another half-year.

These dependable winds account for the immense commerce that has existed for centuries between Arabia and India to the north and Zanzibar, to the south, and the little dhow sailboats laden with cargo ply back and forth once each year between them. Consequence is the harbour is jam-packed with these light sailing craft and predominant population of city is Arabian and Indian, intermingled but seldom inter-related.

Without doubt, Zanzibar is the most exotic, colourful and interesting port yet visited by our ship and our stay here might well have been supplemented by passing by the stops made at Madagascar and Mombasa.